Useless Little Things
by mew-tsubaki
Summary: Oneshot. Trinkets and luxuries and frivolous women—Hawthorne has no use for them. [Hawmitch] *Set before the Guild's arrival in Yokohama.


**Useless Little Things**

A Bungou Stray Dogs oneshot

by mew-tsubaki

Note: The _Bungou Stray Dogs_ characters belong to Asagiri Kafuka-sensei, not to me. Hawmitch fluff. -w- Read, review, and enjoy!

\- ^-^3

"Don't. Say. A single. Thing," he spat through gritted teeth, not even turning around to face them.

He knew precisely who was standing in the doorway to the medical quarters at Fitzgerald's mansion. There was Alcott, who'd been passing by on her way to the house's library. There was Twain, who'd come inside for once after hours spent on the roof shooting skeets. There was Melville, who no doubt had his arms crossed in front of his chest in that I-told-you-so, fatherly way of his. And then there was Mitchell, who'd followed him inside, half tutting, half tittering at his predicament, because it was a repeat scenario.

At last, Hawthorne found the salve on the second shelf, behind some cream whose label had been ripped off ages ago. But the salve—the salve was his found treasure, and he quickly unscrewed the lid off the oblong jar and swiped at his nose and cheeks. The scent of aloe filled the quarters and wandered out into the hallway, where Twain feigned gagging. Hawthorne turned around just as the younger man walked away from the commotion.

"Feel relieved now?" Melville asked, but it was a rhetorical question. Alcott squeaked from behind him when she clearly saw how red Hawthorne's face was beneath the cream.

"Yes, I do," Hawthorne answered anyway.

Mitchell shook her head at her partner. "Hawthorne, we've told you time and again to cover yourself or sit under adequate cover if you're going to spend an exorbitant amount of time outside." She held up her left forearm and gestured to the item dangling from it before waving the item in her other hand around. "Or you could use a parasol or a hat, as I do."

He frowned, a bad taste in his mouth, though his sunburns felt wonderful as the aloe paste worked wonders. "I don't need them." Which was true. It was a stretch, in his opinion, even to need the clothes on his back, but a man of God needed to be modest and wear that much. Still, his clothes, his cross, his Bible—and his glasses—were all that he needed.

He eyed Mitchell, who blinked at the sudden attention. She was definitely his opposite, loving the better things in life and luxuries that came across her path. She had the room with the largest closet in the house just for her collection of dresses, and there were about a dozen or so matching sunhats and parasols, and stoles where needed, for each and every one of them. She had all sorts of make-up and jewelry, known because she constantly bought new types, even though she never wore any except for the occasional lacquer on her nails.

But he had all he needed, he reminded himself as he put the aloe cream back but towards the front of the medium-sized medicine cabinet. He marched to the doorway and waited for his coworkers to part.

Melville shook his head at him. "Lather, rinse, repeat, Nathaniel," he huffed, and he stuck his hands in his pockets and sauntered off. Alcott scampered after him, a stack of papers tucked safely within her arms.

"I've learned," Hawthorne insisted after him, though his face hurt to speak.

Mitchell sighed, drawing his eyes back to her. "No, you haven't, Hawthorne, which is why Melville said what he did." She swung her parasol back and forth on her arm.

"I don't need earthly possessions," he pushed, and he discarded her ideas as he made his way past her and returned outside.

\- ^-^3

Hawthorne didn't understand their concern or their meddling. His face was mostly healed by the following glorious afternoon, and so he resumed his previous activities.

Really, it was the others didn't understand. Reading the Bible gave him peace and helped quell his mind in their line of work. But reading the Bible, in the nature God had created? It was, for lack of a better word, _perfect_.

Such as right now. Right now, he sat beneath the large oak in the front yard, for once vacated by Steinbeck and Lovecraft who often took their afternoon naps there. Hawthorne sat in the tree's shade, pitted by the sunbeams that found every hole between the leaves. It was warm here, in this part of California, in America, warm unlike it was anywhere else. It was the kind of warmth a light blanket provided, without making him too hot, with the way he wore such modest, heavy, black clothing…

The holy man closed his Bible, placing the bookmark ribbon in the early Genesis verses, and placed the book on his lap. He peered up at the leafy roof of branches above him, a small smile blooming on his face. He leaned back against the tree trunk and closed his eyes, rereading the Creation passages in his head, promising to finish reading everything once he drove away his drowsiness, but, first, he had to close his eyes and relish the warmth and count the sounds of his breaths and meditate on the peace one could find beneath a single, lowly oak minding its business and growing despite everything going on in the world around it…

Before he fell into a sound nap, Hawthorne could've sworn he heard an "Oh, Nathaniel…" in a feminine lilt, but he didn't question it when shadow fell completely over him, and he felt relaxed enough to nod off.

\- ^-^3

He grumbled under his breath as he marched through the house hours later that same day, looking for her. He ignored the poorly muffled snort of laughter from Melville as he entered the mansion, he pretended not to hear Steinbeck's whistle or to feel Lovecraft's curious gaze on his back as he passed by the duo snacking in the sitting room, he overlooked Alcott's tiny "Oh!" when she ground to a halt at the landing on the second floor to let him by, and he tucked away Twain's howl of laughter and Montgomery's smirk in a back corner of his mind because he was a man of God but the Bible often mentioned righteous vengeance and oh did they ever make him feel a thirst for vengeance in that moment.

He stomped up to Mitchell's door and pounded on it, nearly drowning out Mitchell's quiet "Come in." He opened the door and found her sitting at her vanity, rummaging through her treasures but not trying any of them on. She glanced up at him and smiled sweetly. "Why, Mr. Hawthorne. You look positively red. Were you out in the sun again?"

Hawthorne knew better. So did his partner. And they both knew he wasn't sunburned in the least, though his cheeks were assuredly aflame. He grasped her parasol roughly by its body and held it out to her like toxic waste. " _This_ ," he hissed. "I believe it belongs to _you_ , Miss Mitchell."

The lady put her belongings aside and stood up from the vanity's bench. She crossed the room and took the parasol gently from him, holding it by the handle. She placed it tip-down on the floor leaned on it as she continued to peer up at him. "You know it does, Hawthorne. Are you really angry with me for leaving it with you? I merely didn't want to see you harm your fair skin yet again."

Maybe it was the sincerity of her words. Maybe it was the fact that it was coming from his partner. Maybe it was the pull of her blue–violet eyes on him… Regardless, Hawthorne deflated slowly and gave her an unimpressed look, the closest he could come to smiling at her right now. "…thank you," he said begrudgingly.

Mitchell smiled again and motioned to the parasol. "Would you like to use it on your own again in the future? I don't mind, if it's you. You take good care of your things, and you were careful to return it to me."

He shook his head. "No, thank you." He frowned, but, the longer she gave him that smile that hinted at her amusement, the calmer he felt, and he pressed his lips into a thin line, giving her a hint of his own smile. "However…"

"Hmm?"

"…should you offer…I might be open to…sharing it with you."

She lit up at that.

So, the clothes on his back, his cross, his Bible, his glasses—and perhaps Mitchell's smile—were all that he needed.

\- ^-^3

 **Fluff as promised. c: I just. These two are so precious and make me deliriously happy. And I really needed to write this after writing "Drastic Measures" (which you should read, too, if you haven't already). This was just cute, though. Also, I love Melville kind of being Hawthorne's, if not everyone's, conscience. -w- *haz a soft spot for Melville***

 **But yep! Thanks for reading, and please review! Check out my other [** _ **BSD**_ **] fics if you liked this!**

 **-mew-tsubaki :3**


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